


A Blade in the Hand

by Ghostinthehouse



Series: Ficlet Omens [21]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aromantic Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), Chubby Aziraphale (Good Omens), M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:47:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24296095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghostinthehouse/pseuds/Ghostinthehouse
Summary: "Give me a sword," saith the angel of the Lord, "that I may guard this gate."
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Ficlet Omens [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1620217
Comments: 11
Kudos: 157
Collections: Aspec-friendly Good Omens





	A Blade in the Hand

60 AD

The Roman Legions had marched out of London, having doled out arms to any citizen willing to stand and fight the Iceni. Aziraphale had joined the queue in his scribe's robe, and accepted a sword. Now he stood in the door of the Forum, with a huddle of women, children, and other non-combatants behind him, and took a deep, slow breath.

Heaven had ordered him not to use miracles against the Iceni, though they had permitted him to defend himself at least, and this was not the first door he had held in his life. The sword was a familiar weight in his hand. Not, perhaps, as familiar as his flaming sword would have been, but familiar enough to waken all his built-in fighting skills.

It was a good thing that Crowley wasn't here. He'd probably try to rescue him, the poor dear, and while Aziraphale preferred to be (and in many ways _was_ ) soft, he was a long way from harmless or helpless.

He was the Guardian of the Eastern Gate. It was not a post for the harmless or the helpless, and Heaven had been correct about him there. Heaven simply had not reckoned on him also being kind, nor on him following God's final order to love the humans as you loved Her. He still hoped he'd got that right. Some of the things that humans counted as part of 'love' were simply things that he had never felt and didn't quite understand, but he acknowledged that most of them did feel them and considered them important, so he tried to act around them as if those things were real and true.

He was also the Guardian of this Gate for now. He was simply standing in the doorway, and if (when) the Iceni attacked him, he would, as Heaven had given permission for, defend himself. Since he would be fighting human-style, he had his doubts that they would even notice. But if they did, well, he was prepared to give the report they wanted.

Around him, London was quiet. As quiet and still as a mouse frozen in place in the grass, hoping that the hawk wouldn't see it.

Then, in the distance, the sounds of battle began.

They came for the children and the Forum, as he had known they would. He knew what they saw when they looked at him too. They saw a fat, white-haired old man in a scribe's tunic blocking the doorway with a sword that he surely couldn't wield effectively. He was, they thought as they leapt to the attack, too old and soft to kill anyone.

It was true, in part. He didn't kill anyone, he just - stopped - them. It took more skill to disable an attacker enough to take them out of the fight, but he _had_ skill. They went down with cut tendons, dislocated limbs, and shattered bones, but they'd live. For a while, at least. That they lived long enough to repent themselves of facing him, that was all he required. Attacking an angel might otherwise be a sin great enough to take them straight to Hell, and he certainly didn't want _that_. He was, after all, expected to gather souls for Heaven, not Hell, and repentance did the trick there. Or should, all other things being equal (which of course they never were).

He huffed in annoyance when the Iceni drew back, but didn't follow. Moving light caught his eye, and he looked up to see that the roof of the Forum had caught fire. "Oh bother!" he said. Now he'd have to get the children out of here. He wiped the sword clean on someone else's tunic, propped it against a door pillar, and picked his way primly through the groaning pile of bodies he'd created.

He'd just ushered them out into the dubious safety of the streets when an Iceni chariot drawn by a pair of very unhappy ponies pulled up beside him, and an all too familiar voice grumbled, "Blessed Heaven, angel, what are you doing here?"

"Nothing very important," he said, and flinched as the Forum collapsed behind them.

"And not enough sense to get out of danger," Crowley muttered. "Get in, angel."

"What of the children?"

He sighed and rolled his eyes. "Yes, all right, them too."

Aziraphale beamed, and shooed the littlest children into the chariot, before climbing in at the back and immediately seeking a handhold.

The ponies flattened their ears as flame and smoke wafted closer, and then bolted, trying to escape the smell of snake that always lingered on Crowley.

Crowley let out a whoop at the speed.

Aziraphale hung on tighter, and groused without heat, "Watch the _road,_ Crowley!"


End file.
